


the boy who loves you (is a dead boy)

by pastichi_o



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Break Up, Cheating, Infidelity, M/M, Non-Graphic Smut, One-Sided Relationship, kind of but not really??
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-18
Updated: 2019-05-18
Packaged: 2020-03-07 06:12:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18867364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pastichi_o/pseuds/pastichi_o
Summary: Johnny loves Taeil. Never in a broad daylight.





	the boy who loves you (is a dead boy)

**Author's Note:**

> heavily inspired by this.
> 
> i can't write infidelity but... let's try to fix that. i'm having so much thoughts while writing this lol this came out so much more messy and rushed than i thought it'd be ;;  
> not beta'd.

It’s seven AM, Johnny slides off his matress with thick lethargy on his face. His body feels sore, screaming for a little bit of rest. The tall man stretches for a while, he squeaks when his muscles feel taut. Johnny only glances at his clock briefly, completely ignoring the lump of person quietly sleeping under the thick blanket on the bed beside him—he swears to never care from day one.

Johnny doesn’t care. He feels nothing.

Still, he can’t help but bury the worry all by himself. Did he hog the blanket last night? Was the person able to sleep well?

He strolls to his kitchen to brew some black coffee and make some toast with a cloudy mind. Johnny easily reaches the peanut butter on the lower shelf. He almost picks the jar containing a red substance and a label named _strawberry jam_ beside it—only to remind himself, it’s not what he likes. It’s there not for him and therefore, Johnny musn’t touch it. He knows well this certain someone won’t eat without strawberry jam on their toast.

Johnny sighs and puts his breads on the toast, mumbling some new song he picked from the radio few days ago whilst glancing at the road from his windows. An arm of his lazily sneaks under his own shirt, scratching featherlikely to pull more of his comfort.

The scenery has never really changed from years ago. He sees the young group of girls wearing short pleated skirts and white formal shirts with vests giggling together as they walked together to school. His neighbor Old Anne always had a messy set of cables above her roof that moves dangerously every time a storm comes. Johnny sips his black coffee, devouring all the domestic and stagnant picture of his windows with ecstasy.

Johnny always smears his toasts with two streaks of peanut butter. He eats it while gazing at his treasured vase on the dining table, later noticing that the flower has withered out somehow and he thinks it’s time to change it. He plans to get some brand new fresh flower after work—which he almost forgets, but thankfully he doesn’t. He remembers the way someone would really love to admire his flowers.

What comes after breakfast is shower. Johnny doesn’t catch (he doesn’t want to) the rumbling sound that immediately filled his house by the second. He also faintly hears his coffeemaker and toaster being used somewhere in the middle of his hair-washing. Johnny also doesn’t catch (he still doesn’t want to) a tiny figure silently sneaking to his freshly used shower. He too hears his shower turned on somewhere in the middle of his buttons. Yet he doesn’t bother move. He finishes his clothing with a pair of dark slacks, comfortable white shirt, and a brand new tie he got from a discount sale two weeks ago. He will wear a pair of dark socks and polished shoes then.

He doesn’t leave a message—he has never, he never will—when Johnny passes the empty dining room. There’s a plate belonged to him, but not essentialy his doing. His heart aches upon learning that there’s still one slice of half-burn bread left on the plate. Quick questions flash through his head like a rapid bullet— _did he eat enough? Was he in hurry? Should I bring some takeouts later?_

Johnny quickly shakes his head on realizing his weird question. He’s never cared, why should he? Bills and taxes aren’t going to pay themselves out, Johnny walks away from his own house—not locking the door—with a heavy heart that he ignores.

In the workplace, the usual encounter with his mates—Jaehyun, Ten, Yuta, and fresh intern Mark—draws his mind out from where it was. He momentarily is able to forget what’s happening in his house. Ten’s raunchy chirps and Yuta’s loud laugh push his laughter finally. Johnny listens to Mark’s complaints about the place he took his girlfriend with yesterday. He says it has something—maybe foods or just an unfortunate event, Johnny skipped a beat while Mark mentioned that, so he doesn’t really remember—awful quality. Jaehyun pats his shoulder and suggests some other place he had gone to with his boyfriend. They share some more babbles before finally catching their times on their own cubicles.

It’s enough distractions for Johnny to forget the dates he’s gone to with someone. He has been there too: cheap amusement parks and poor food. Difference is, he’s never been able to complain. The other party is always, _always_ so happy wherever Johnny brings him to—he always sports this huge, radiant smile despite the salty sunny side ups and cold breads. Johnny forgets all of his annoyance and irritations by the time he turns around to see a small person with the loveliest smile ever.

Between the spreadsheets and datas, Johnny reminisces about how he would talk about taxes and bills he had to pay. About his sick mother in the outskirts of Seoul which he sends his money to. Not the best topic to talk about for a cheesy date, but it’s the only time Johnny can tell and be heard. He lets himself loose everytime there’s a gentle voice telling him— _“It’s okay, you can tell me,”_ —he’ll be alright. Johnny clicks one of the windows, reading another spreadsheet he needs to get done.

He never actually has the chance to properly talk about his job. It’s silent everytime Johnny opens the door and lets the person in. He can always see the radiant smile—that, however, doesn’t reach this someone’s eyes. Johnny never dares to talk first. They just let everything unrolls without questioning—later in the night before they fall asleep only they will talk. No—Johnny will _hear_ , it’s his time to hear. He never says anything. Unless when he’s asked—or when everything becomes too much for him.

Johnny hears almost everything. The same taxes. The same bills. Apartement charges and expensive dine-ins. He shares a very similar lifestyle yet a huge gap of differences each time Johnny hears out the muffled mutters he gets after a long session. It’s hard to ignore when Johnny spends most of his days dealing with the very same spreadsheets as what he’s heard, he never actually let it slip from his works.

And it’s tiring.

It’s tiring when he needs to focus and his goddamned head can’t stop relating every single number inputs with any mumbles stuck in his head from a very dear person.

When Johnny’s tired enough, he shuts his computer close and lean to his chair. All the blocks of numbers and texts he gets from his boss can be very dizzying, let alone his messy mind. He used to like playing games to swat his stress away, but he eventually had to quit the habit when a senior caught him and he couldn’t risk his job. Despite all the annoying graphics and the occasional scoldings he gets from the supervisor—Johnny loves his job, okay. The income is good and his friends are super-nice.

Johnny looks up to the ceiling and he remembers about the groceries he has to buy for this month, noticing how he’s running out of shaving cream and canned beans. One of his back of hands runs along his shaved jaw, feeling a slight sting. It’s been awhile since the last time he’s shaved. So he finishes his work at three PM sharp. Johnny doesn’t forget to leave a note of some work details for his supervisor before his phone gets bombarded by emails. Mark asks him why he’s so on hurry and Johnny just shrugs, said he needs a very urgent grocery shopping to do.

Johnny has always have this some kind of love-hate relationships with domestic things, namely grocery shopping. He loves it because it brings memory of him and his mother together somehow—she leaves the fragments of herself in every tiny bits of activities that would make Johnny always remember home. He reads through the labels of his favourite instant chicken nugget brands and he remembers how his mother always reminds him to be careful for his calorie intakes. He reaches the highest shelves to get some strawberry jams and the picture of his mother struggling to get things from the high racks flashes through his head. He pushes his trolley and he remembers how his mother would let him push it together.

Those tiny bits of memories are what keeping him sane when he’s so far away from home. It makes him feel he never actually leaves his hometown. Johnny can still hear his mother scolding him somewhere in the back of his head when he impulsively reaches out for a pack of yet another coffee.

The hate part, honestly, is just because Johnny is a big fluffball of jealousy.

As much as it reminds him of his hometown, it also aches his heart. Johnny sees a little guy pointing at a box of snack and his mother gives in shortly after, the giggle of joy the boy lets out rings through his heart—the feeling of longing embraces his sanity right here and there. A pair of middle aged husband and wife agreeing on a brand new frying pan, a couple of too-touchy boys giggling as they slide a bottle of cheap whiskey to their trolley.

All of that. The things he want to have but never will. Looking at the image only makes his heart sink deeper, his head hangs low in an alibi of making sure he’s bought everything he needs.

Domestic stuffs don’t click well with him. Because when he turns his head to get some shaving creams he initially needs, he sees someone he knows very well giggling with a person who’s not him. His heart skips a beat upon recognizing the very familiar wide smile. It almost feels like a sun has just casted its appearances on earth and Johnny’s starting to burn. The whole world seems to stop when at last, their glances collide with each other. He notices the smile to falter away by the matter of seconds, and, oh—how guilty he feels to be the culprit of the long face.

The sun shines so bright in front of him that Johnny had to cast his attention somewhere else. He scrolls through his phone, looking on the grocery list he actually finished a while ago. Completely ignoring the pierching question the other person received—a soft, caring query of, “What’s wrong, Taeil?” and pushes his trolley past the pair. Johnny doesn’t bother waiting for a side glance that may or may not be delivered by the particular person. He has something more important to do, these groceries aren’t going to pay by themselves. Johnny walks with wide steps, each of them trying to swat away the thoughts of his mind.

He doesn’t care and he will never, he decides.

Johnny gets home with a plastic bag full of stuffs. Mostly things he impulsively put on the trolley—such as some jar of strawberry jams (even though he never eats it), packs of coffee (even though he still has two boxes of it), new air freshener, and bunch of other snacks he bought solely because of the discount.

His apartment is quiet and dark, as it should be, when he enters. The light flickers and Johnny sighs. He has roughly two to three hours to prepare some dinner before trouble comes. Maybe he shouldn’t buy too much things and just order pizza for tonight—maybe invite Jaehyun and his boyfriend or Mark to help him finish it (although he can do it by himself, everyone knows, but Johnny always fancies a company). The idea, though, is quickly discarded when he remembers that he doesn’t want to spend all night watching Jaehyun making out with his boyfriend and Mark has the weirdest set of movie runs that doesn’t click well with Johnny’s taste.

Moreover, he’s practically dead if anyone sees something they shouldn’t.

So he opts for a much simpler one. Not one pot recipes because he sucks at it, Johnny can’t differentiate parsley and basil—he really doesn’t want to ruin his food even for a night; every meal is precious and should not be wasted. In the end, Johnny reaches one of his cabinets for a cup of instant ramen. That’s his third set for this week and it’s only Thursday. At least God knows why and won’t laugh when He finds Johnny sprawled on the floor; dead by eating too much instant noodles.

While waiting for his water to boil, Johnny scrolls through his phone. Few snapchats from his friend Doyoung back in Korea—said he’s on vacation on Jeju and the photos are fantastic. A dry joke Mark threw in the group chat. A shit-ton of workloads email. And none from the one he awaits the most. Johnny laughs at the emoji Jaehyun sends, trying his best to ignore the pang in his chest upon processing the latest fact. He’s just about to type a reply when the front door is knocked.

He stops altogether, eyes glancing at the wall clock. It says seven twenty, nothing near the time he had agreed with someone. He received no notification either—could it be a random colleague he had an appointment with? Or a did he forget something in the office? Johnny turns off his heater and puts his phone aside.

What he doesn’t expect when opening a door is a figure of a man around his age, much shorter than he is, drown in an oversized sweater that looks good on him nevertheless. Johnny falls quiet upon exchanging stares for the second time with the very same man. There’s no bright and wide smile he saw before, only a thin curve on his lips—his dim-lighted eyes are softly glistening with dots of sparkles.

Both of them doesn’t say anything. They spend few seconds watching at each other closely—Johnny trying to wrap his head around the condition, holding his heart intact from the exploding feeling suffocating him. There he is, Moon Taeil with all of his glory, standing tall in front of his door as if he didn’t walk away earlier today without batting Johnny an eyelash. His lowly lit eyes say so much—longing, desire, guilt, lust; every kind of emotions Johnny can decipher.

No one really knows who moves first when Taeil grabs Johnny’s nape for a fervent kiss and Johnny catching Taeil’s waist as if on cue. It’s a little overwhelming for Johnny to move because Taeil is literally latching onto him, not wanting to let go even for a second. He’s delighted; he missed this, he missess it—yes, of course, he’s been waiting for this all day, but he’s also confused as heck. Johnny almost falls on his feet, Taeil’s lips taste weirdly wet.

“Slow down,” he hisses between the kisses, to which Taeil doesn’t listen. The smaller man’s nails grazing on Johnny’s skin of nape, making him flinch by the sudden pain. There’s something unsaid between the hungry touches that Johnny can’t fathom. Taeil is in a rush, somehow, yet with so much emotions poured inbetween their smooches. “Hey, slow down. What’s wrong, Taeil?”

A pull on his lower lip and finally Taeil stops. His glimmering pair of beautiful orbs looking straight at Johnny’s—a sense of familiarity is present in the air. The way he sighs shortly before curving a meaningless smile sends painful tingles to Johnny’s chest, in which he only answers by gulping down his own lump of saliva. The tips of Taeil’s fingers slowly creep up, playing with Johnny’s well trimmed strands.

“Make love to me,” Taeil whispers, tiptoing to reach Johnny’s level. He gently traces the younger’s sideburns, watching him close as if a moment ago he wasn’t trying to devour him wholly. Johnny doesn’t realize the way his breath hitches when Taeil drops his gaze back on his optics. “You’ll not care tomorrow, anyway. Make love to me, I want to be loved. Just for tonight.”

 _You’ll not care tomorrow_ —the sentence is worded correctly, yet still sounds so wounding to Johnny’s ears. It’s true, it’s undeniably true. That’s what Johnny has been reminding himself with each day, then why does it sound so wrong coming from Taeil’s lips?

What Taeil wishes is a command to Johnny. So make love he does—Johnny smiles softly when he holds hand with Taeil firmly, but not firm enough to hurt his dainty fingers, and lead him to his bedroom. He kisses Taeil with so much care when he slides his oversized sweater off and dumps it near his own wardrobe. He runs his fingers through Taeil’s back so smoothly as if to soothe him from the excruciating pain. He maps Taeil’s skin as much as he can, leaving traces for only him to see—for a broad daylight can’t afford the intense affection they share with each other.

Taeil is so worthy of all the love in this world, Johnny decides. He takes care of him as if he’s a glass so easy to break. Hands not gripping too hard on his waist, fearing Taeil would dislike the red mark on his skin tonight. Every single noises coming out from Taeil’s mouth sounds like a music to him—much better than any songs Taeil has ever sung in the other nights. He likes it—he likes it so much and it makes his heart swells to know that he’s given a chance to see Taeil like this.

Johnny likes to think that Taeil somehow loves him just as much as how Johnny feels towards him. He pretends to believe that the kisses he shares with Taeil means something more than just a one-night pleasure. He sees Taeil’s fingers slot so prettily on him and he draws a scenario that probably never runs through Taeil’s head. He’s a childish romanticist just like that—pecking his lover a soft _don’t worry_ , Johnny lets the poor succulent he keeps in his room becomes a silent witness of what happens between them.

The night is still young when Johnny lets Taeil count seconds with his fingers. His instant noodle long forgotten, hunger seems to be immediately supplied by the time Taeil’s presence comes. At times like this, usually, he would very much prefer a quick brisk shower to wash his fatigue and sweat off before immediately slipping to a deep slumber. But Taeil’s here—still clad in nothing but Johnny’s bed cover, seemingly very comfortable with his current position (pressed close to Johnny and practically glued to him) and Johnny would hate to ruin that.

“What are you thinking?” Johnny softly whispers, trying to keep it low for the smaller guy. There’s no answer, Taeil even stops playing with Johnny’s long fingers for a while before continuing briefly. It’s neither a green or red light, Johnny decides to take the former. “You should’ve told me you’re coming earlier today. I almost invited Mark and Jaehyun for pizza. Have you eaten any dinners?”

The older of the two remains quiet. Johnny thinks this night is exceptionally cold—the windows are opened a while ago, but the night breeze already bites his exposed skin. Taeil seems to be unbothered at all by the scene, though, he keeps his gaze casted on Johnny’s finger. His blunt nails tracing the outline of Johnny’s fingers, purposely pressing on some parts.

Taeil is sentimental. Johnny kinds of get it on their second month being together. He had noticed how Taeil likes to be quiet and listen to anything—only ocassionally saying something when it gets too much for him (and that’s the time Johnny would be all ears, tentatively). He also noticed how Taeil very much prefers the silent corners of old coffee shops rather than a fancy restaurant that costs a plain salad for a half of Johnny’s monthly apartment rent. Well—maybe it’s because Taeil also knows how Johnny’s also struggling with his finance, but Johnny likes to think the former.

Small moments like these are what keeping Johnny holds onto the line. The thin line build on nothing but humane desire that will immediately burns out by the time morning comes. Johnny cares for times like this—he treasures it close to his heart; kept in the back of his head, silently ringing his whole body painfully when it’s one PM in office and his head is buzzed by the amount of spreadsheets. He can play an act where he doesn’t care—that he doesn’t want as much as Taeil does, if he ever shows it—but his heart, his little heart will never lie.

Johnny loves Taeil. But it’s never when the sun is up there in the sky.

“I didn’t expect to meet you in the supermarket today,” Johnny confesses. He leans closer and awards Taeil’s mop of black hair with a soft peck. The movement on his fingers stop again, he hears Taeil’s breath hitch low beneath. The taller uses the chance to let his hand go from Taeil’s hold and pulls his petite figure to a warm embrace. Taeil stays silent when Johnny presses his cheek on the top of his head. “You looked great, though. Rocking that jacket jeans. I also bought you some new strawberry jams because you said the brand—”

“John, let’s stop.” 

The sudden cut from Taeil jolts him awake. There’s no longer fatigue draped in his body and he feels his heart drop to his stomach. His head spins, Johnny freezes on his position. He can hear the wind blowing much harder this time, the frostbites hurting his shoulder. His windows rattle ridiculously loud and Johnny wants to nothing but slam it broken so it doesn’t get on his nerves.

He doesn’t know since when he’s hold his breath. Taeil’s fruity shampoo smells stronger in his nose and even though it’s the most pleasant fragrance Johnny has ever known, the air around him is suffocating and he would wish nothing but to breathe freely. Taeil feels so close to him and Johnny can’t wrap around his mind. “Come again?”

He hears Taeil gulping down his own saliva before repeating in a shaken voice, “Let’s stop.” He can feel Taeil’s fingers grow cold on his grip and Johnny finds it difficult to process everything. “This is wrong. Let’s end it here,” Taeil continues—his voice vibrates through the room, he speaks so softly as if he can break anytime. Johnny stares blankly at a plant he keeps near the window, the curtain moves with grace along with every gust of wind.

“This is wrong?” Johnny repeats, the string of words taste undeniably bitter in his tongue. His head keeps on soaring that this is not his place to say anything about it—but he can’t, he can’t stay still if his heart says otherwise. “That’s not what you said when I asked you back in the club a year ago.”

Taeil pauses, he opens his mouth to say something before closing it a moment later. The atmosphere feels so wrong when Taeil finally says, “This was a mistake.” and numerous pikes pierce right through his chest. Intense pangs of pain rake through his whole body and Johnny feels his lips tremble.

“A mistake,” He folds his lips and closes his eyes—the more quiet it goes, the painful it is for Johnny. And, oh, how he regrets doing all sort of things. “You were the one who dragged me down to this mess and now you’re saying this was a mistake?” His arms grow loose from holding on Taeil’s lithe body, however still refusing to actually look at him in the eyes. It’s painful— _too_ painful for him to even feel.

When Taeil keeps silent after the rhetorical question, Johnny takes it as a yes. He no longers cage Taeil in his body, but Taeil doesn’t move. His sight is blurry and even though he hates it, Johnny closes his lids once again and takes a sharp inhale—that almost tear his chest into two, the painful stabs never ending. “Am I just another fling for you to use and discard when you’re bored, Taeil?” 

Taeil turns his head away. “You’re not a fling.”

“Then stop making me feel like it.”

For the first time after Taeil said anything, he braces himself to look up and meets Johnny’s shaking eyes. Like few hours ago when Taeil first knocked the front door, they shared lingering gazes—this time it holds so much more meaning than before, and anyone can see that. Taeil bites his lower lips, his hesitant hand finds a purchase to run a line on Johnny’s jaw.

Johnny remembers this scenario somewhere in the back of his head. Difference is, it was a very warm spring night—on a nearby park where no one else comes after nine PM; he and Taeil sprawled on the grass and named stars according to their own preferences. They laughed when Johnny (not so) accidentally said something hilarious and that was exactly when Johnny starts associating Taeil with all the pretty things in life. He looked in Taeil’s eyes and saw more stars than the sky could contain—he doved in for a chaste kiss and even though Taeil’s chapped lips felt awkward, he liked it.

He would very much prefer that. But then again, he doesn’t click well with domestic stuffs. He’s rough on the edges and he doesn’t have time to soften them out. Everything he’s ever dreamt of is just not for him. And Johnny is fully aware of that.

Taeil sighs and gives in the silence. He curves a tiny smile on his lips, the one that Johnny finds incredibly melancholic and sad. “My wife is pregnant,” he confesses—much to Johnny’s surprises; the tiny tint of happiness in his words are hard to ignore in the midst of his misery. The information supplies a spark of excitement—and also disappoinment—to the younger man, he listens close to what Taeil has to say. “I’m coming back to Korea.”

When it involves Taeil and his family, precisely his wife, Johnny can’t say much. Who is he to talk about families when he’s right there—standing behind the bar of destruction as each day he keeps on breaking Taeil’s family little by little? What Taeil had said didn’t really bring peace to his mind, but Johnny—being a very good _fling_ he is, bites on his inner cheek and nods.

If he’s going to be honest, Johnny has ever more than once had the thought of just breaking Taeil’s family’s apart and bring Taeil for him only. Different scenarios each day—sometimes it’s him taking Taeil away to a long ride, sometimes  it’s him walking in the house and slapping a divorce paper on the table. And the list goes on. This time, maybe he considers about tagging along to Korea just to ruin Taeil’s family life there. It’s a shameful thought, but he can’t help himself from being territorial for someone he loves truly, can he?

Johnny doesn’t really know Taeil’s wife per se—as he doesn’t know Taeil in a broad daylight either. He’s heard it from Taeil only that she’s a kindergarten teacher that Taeil met during his last year of college and married roughly four or five years ago. A very lovely woman, according to him; a good cook, a diligent crafter. Taeil told Johnny that his knitted scarf is handmade by her and Johnny did agree that she has skillful fingers.

He also doesn’t really know why Taeil is still up on his bed almost every night when his wife is such a great woman. He never tells, and Johnny never asks. He wouldn’t dare—as it’s not his place to. It confuses him from time to time when Taeil talks so lovingly about his wife, only to submit beneath Johnny’s touches the next second. Maybe this time, he regrets the time he didn’t ask him that when there was a chance.

“When?” Johnny’s voice rings softly—carefully, fearing the crack will be too visible for Taeil to notice. He doesn’t want Taeil to actually realize what damage he brings to him, doesn’t want Taeil to know the fact that Johnny seems to be the only one who falls too deep to this act of foolishness. Taeil stops his hand movement and settles to cup Johnny’s face. His stare is soft, full of love, gentle—and all the sweet things Johnny craves for, but he knows he doesn’t deserve it.

“You don’t need to know,” Taeil decides. Johnny complies. That was a cue—an unspoken agreement between them. None of them actually talks about it, but Johnny knows very well that it’s a deciphered message for Taeil to not come back again, ever. There’s nothing left to be talked about, so neither of them talk. The night is growing old, Johnny’s hunger is left forgotten inbetween his and Taeil’s soft breathe.

He doesn’t say anything when Taeil slips off his bed in two AM. He must’ve thought that Johnny falls asleep few moments ago, completely swatting the fact that Johnny is wide awake with no intentions to sleep. When Taeil puts on his jeans, he looks at Johnny and, again, they share a gaze. This time, it’s fully unguarded and Johnny is able to immediately recognize the feeling of longing and hesitation in Taeil’s eyes.

He knows. He knows Taeil doesn’t want to go, he also knows Taeil loves him. But above all, he very well knows Taeil has a family to come back to and he doesn’t stand a chance to them.

Taeil goes without saying anything else. He doesn’t leave a note or a one pot meal he used to make when Johnny hasn’t eaten any dinners. He doesn’t even bother turning on the lights and honestly, that’s better. He disappears in the dark of the night and Johnny finds himself lifeless on his bed, looking at his ceiling. Leaving him with his naïve thoughts that will be discarded by the time the sun pops out.

He thinks of all the possibilities he and Taeil can have if only they meet in a different circumstances. Or if he’s more of a jerk and owns more bravery to actually do something except than waiting for Taeil’s calls in late nights. Maybe it would be better—not essentially good, maybe, but it could be better. He’d love to spend more nights looking at Taeil and comparing his eyes to the stars. Or learn to cook one pot recipes as Taeil scolds him to differentiate parsley and basil. Or maybe, just the quiet moments where he can watch Taeil sipping his coffee on a corner of an old coffee shop—listening to his bizarre, rhetorical questions after that.

All the thoughts are pretty, pleasing for him to imagine. If it hurts more than he thought he’d be, Johnny doesn’t let it get on his mind. He tugs on the duvet closer to his naked chest, leaving his toes bare for the wind to tickle. There’s so much going on in his head that he can’t blink an eye to sleep, yet he doesn’t mind. Not at all. Maybe thinking like this is a lot better than just letting him accept his self-title of a fling.

His heart aches. Everything happens in a blink of an eye, he just lost someone he holds so close. Something he bonds over by the thin line of mistrust—and he knows he shouldn’t be crying as he knows what’s coming. Johnny is aware of that, but the old night can’t help but let him be. He likes being in his head and at the moment, he just wants to feel. Before everything goes as it is, before the day decides what he would feel. Let him feel it all before he loses it.

It’s seven AM when Johnny looks at his clock. His heart feels sore, screaming for a little bit of peace. The tall man sits up and looks at the window, he didn’t close the curtains last night. He doesn’t even bother to pay attention to the empty cold space beside him before slipping off from his mattress—he swears to never care from day one.

Johnny doesn’t care. He feels nothing.


End file.
